The Red Light District
by Megii of Mysteri OusStranger
Summary: Jiraiya was a self-proclaimed super pervert. He loved women. It wasn’t unusual for him to frequent a place like this. That didn’t make this kind of thing right. A different look at everyone’s favorite perverted Sannin.


The Red Light District

_Jiraiya was a self-proclaimed super pervert. He loved women. It wasn't unusual for him to frequent a place like this. That didn't make this kind of thing right. A different look at everyone's favorite perverted Sannin._

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The room was illuminated with a soft, orange light, hazy with smoke and the smell of tobacco. Sake was served warm and fast and the women were young, gorgeous and even faster than the liquor. He, and all other patrons in the vicinity, was surrounded by lovely, scantily clad women, their skirts hiked up too high, standing in their sharp heels like stilts, thongs peeking out on their lower backs—someone's shirt slips, a flash of nipple here and there. On the other side of the room, a black-tied older man mashed his mouth drunkenly against the red lips of the whore in his lap.

Jiraiya laughed uproariously as he reached the climax of his tale, the women surrounding him giggling. He knew that they were glad that he was the one entertaining them instead for once, instead of the usual other way around. Shinobi were always the most interesting customers—sometimes in a good way, like Jiraiya, but also sometimes in a bad way.

The air was thick and heavy with the smell of sweat, sex, and carbon dioxide. If he weren't the skilled man he was, he would have been sweating. Indeed many of the women were sporting a luminescent sheen of sweat on their over-exposed skins.

A deeply tanned brunette whispered something he couldn't quite make out and one of the younger women nervously sidled to him. He was a bit surprised to find himself suddenly with a lapful of blushing, lip-biting female.

Her face was softer than most of the other women's, cheeks covered in fading freckles. He noted the tension lines on her hands, felt the subtle way her legs squeezed, as if she wanted to cross them. He had little doubt that was just what she wanted to do.

_'Hardly even a woman. She's just a kid, a baby.'_ He thought. '_I'd bet both my thumbs she's a virgin.'_ He widened his grin and wrapped his muscular arms around her tiny form. She squeaked and stiffened in his embrace. "Aw, aren't you a cutie! Just a right sweetheart, aren't you babe?" He felt her heart flutter desperately like a caged finch.

The deeply tanned brunette leaned into his shoulder, her lips tickling the shell of his ear as she spoke. A tagged key was pressed into his calloused palm as she nibbled his earlobe.

His already pink cheeks deepened a shade. "Really?" he practically squealed at the woman. She nodded, smirking, and he kissed her full on the mouth before standing, dragging the young beauty up with him. He dipped his hand low, brushing his fingers against the swell of her buttocks.

"Well, hot damn! Sounds great to me! Come on, doll!"

He pulled the girl with him by her upper-arm, his long strides nearly causing her to trip over her feet. They passed doors one, two, three, and five (room four was completely absent). Erotic moans could be heard through the thin wood of a couple of the doors.

Pausing at room six, he forced the key into the lock and wiggled the knob about a bit until it finally gave and fell open. Head low, the girl disappeared into the room as the white-hired hermit turned to the brunette woman (who had followed them) and fished a roll of money out of one of his pockets. The woman's eyes glittered greedily at the sight and she took the cash with a too-sweet smile and a bow.

"Thank you for your gracious contribution to our establishment, sir!" She said, flashing him her teeth. "The girl should service you until morning, or until you send her away. And, if I may make a suggestion, she's a feisty one, so don't worry about applying discipline if she needs it." The woman winked and was gone.

His own dark eyes glittered with something unnamed and he slipped into the room with a soundless grace only a ninja possessed. The door shut behind him with a soft click and he shoved the key in the lock to jam it shut before turning to the girl.

There had been a lot of things he'd been expecting, even this scenario, but he still found his heart breaking at the sight of the salty tears rolling down the young girl's cheeks. She held her head to the side; eyes squeezed shut as she forced her arms to hold her cheap kimono open. He was granted the sad sight of adolescent breasts, hips that hadn't yet filled out, and even her pussy hadn't grown in all its hair. There were bruises on her knees and slim thighs, make up poorly applied to the purple handprint on her left breast. He saw her tremble, throat struggling to hold in sobs.

"P-please use this c-c-cum b-bucket body of mine to f-f-fulfill your de-desires tonight, m-m-master." She stuttered out.

The man sighed, and approached her. He saw her flinch as his hands touched her body, but eyes snapped open when he drew her kimono closed, tying the obi tightly on her waist.

"I'm not going to touch you, much less violate you in such a disgusting way." He grunted.

She looked up at him with dewy, astonished eyes. "I-I don't understand, sir."

He gently pushed her to turn around and drew the ends of the obi behind her to tie it. "What's your name?"

She sniffed, snot dribbling from her nose to her upper lip. "U-Ume." She murmured.

"Not your flower name. Your real name."

She inhaled sharply, taken aback. "M-Maori. Tokio Maori."

"Maori," he began, taking a small step back to place his heavy hands on her shoulders, "How would you like to get out of here?"

Her muddy eyes widened to the side of saucers. She clasped her hands together to control her shaking, though it resonated in her voice. "You-you could do that, sir?"

"I'm Jiraiya. And yes. I'm a shinobi, it will be easy."

She burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. "Oh, yes! Please!"

He pulled her into a bear hug, her petite form nearly vanishing within the fold of his arms. The front of his vest quickly stained with salt and snot. He didn't mind—he could always buy a new one.

"Why, Jiraiya-sama?" he heard her mumble into his chest.

His face contorted into a scowl, though she couldn't see it. "I'm a pervert, a big one, but I'm not a sick, dishonorable _pig_ like those other men out there. I would never treat a woman like an object, a toy. I would never force myself on a woman who didn't want me. And no one should have to be in this sort of business if they don't want to."

He heard her sniffle. "What about the money you gave Kouchou-sama? My family sold me to this place—they will just use that money to buy someone else."

He snorted. "I'd like to see them do that with fake money and their safe cleaned out." She gasped and looked up at him, eyes as wide as ever. He smirked down at her. "What? I told you, I'm a ninja. Breaking a combination lock is a cake-walk to someone of my caliber."

Her facial features disappeared again into the fabric of his clothes. "Thank you… thank you, Jiraiya-sama."

He squeezed her a little tighter before scooping her up into his arms, bridal style. She let out a squeak. "Is there anything of yours we need to get?" He felt hesitant hands wrap around his torso, felt her nose press uncomfortably into the crook of his neck.

"Nothing, Jiraiya-sama."

"Then lets get the fuck out of this hell-hole." He almost wished he could see the owners' furious faces when they found out.

**End**

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_While I do not feel that this is at all crappy, I should like to go back and fatten this up sometime later to give it more substance. As it is, currently, my focus is on other projects, and I have not at all been able to get my creativity flowing today, so this was mostly started as a way to force the block out of my brain._

_I'm actually quite surprised that no one has written something like this before. The manga has been around for 10+ years and no one honestly thought of this scenario?_

_Jiraiya is certainly one of my favorite characters, it was actually probably he who turned me into the perv that I am, but despite that he has always seemed an honorable guy, despite his peeping. He doesn't strike me as a "wham, bam, thank you ma'am" kind of pervert and I'd like to think that, if he came across an unwilling girl, he'd try to get her out of that bad situation(a situation that happens all too often in the real world, slavery is _not_dead in America)._

_A few notes on little quirks in the fic-the Japanese word "4" is considered unlucky because it sounds a lot like "death" and hotels, etc., are known to often omit the room number, as well as "9." -Jiraiya tying her obi in the back is significant because prostitutes were often identified by the fact that they tied their obi in the front (easier/faster). -"flower name" was the "professional/stage" name for a whore. In the old days, it was commonplace for a woman's name to be changed to something that men would find more appealing (geisha-in-training were also given flower names when they became maiko). -Ume means "plum" and Kouchou means "nightingale."_

_Read, review, and all that jazz,_

_Megii_


End file.
